Through Darker Days
by CaroH
Summary: Athos is attacked and left for dead.
1. Chapter 1

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter One**

Athos internally cursed his state of inebriation as he staggered along the narrow refuse filled alleyway, his footsteps ringing loudly on the rain slick cobbles. Damn Milady for finding her way into the King's bed, and damn his inability to cope with being in close proximity to his former wife. Every time he was on duty be saw her and it was slowly tearing him apart. Memories which had long been locked down were starting to resurface; the perfect summer they had spent together, Thomas' murder and the look on her face as the noose had been tightened around her neck. It had led to a return to solitary drinking. He knew his friends were worried about him and was grateful that they were giving him the space he needed to deal with the problem. As it turned out, though, he wished they were with him tonight.

He belatedly realised that he had taken a wrong turn. He stopped, his hand pressed against the nearest wall feeling the rough wood under his fingertips, and looked around. In the dark all the deserted streets looked the same, rows of houses leaning together like lovers to block out the light of the moon. His breath came in harsh gasps and he began to feel light-headed. How much had he drunk? His memory was hazy after the first two bottles of wine.

He started to walk again, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, quickening his pace when he heard heavy footsteps behind him. The streets of Paris after dark were a dangerous place and, as he had vital information that needed to reach Treville, he couldn't afford to be waylaid. The sounds faded and the stiffness in his shoulders relaxed. He came to an intersection where he stopped to get his bearings. Church bells chimed to his right. It was midnight which meant he had been drinking alone for more than five hours. No wonder he was feeling unsteady. He turned towards the sound knowing that it would lead him to a wider and safer thoroughfare.

Two men stepped out in front of him and he hesitated. Both were indistinct figures although he could tell that they were blocking the street. He turned back and found two more men behind him. He drew his sword and backed against a wall, switching his gaze between the two groups.

"What do you want?" he asked, enunciating each word carefully. He hoped that this was an opportunistic and random attack. That would mean they didn't know how handicapped he was by drink. Maybe they would think better of their choice of prey once they realised he was a Musketeer.

The two men nearest to him began to walk slowly forward. One was small and wiry, likely able to move quickly and as slippery as an eel. The other was tall and broad, a mass of muscle who would rely on his power to overwhelm his opponent. Both men carried thick wooden bats. Neither held a knife or a sword.

When they rushed him he lunged at the nearest target, his sword piercing the shoulder of the larger man. With a howl his opponent backed away. The second man swung his bat. Athos scrambled to the side, not quite quickly enough to avoid a blow to the ribs. He stifled a scream and kept moving.

The other men seemed content to block his escape which at least evened the odds somewhat. He was going to struggle to defeat two. Four would be overwhelming. The bat swung again, catching him on the shoulder. Ignoring the pain he drew his main gauche and attacked. He drove the small man backwards, slashing at his arms and body. A couple of shallow cuts had his opponent moving more warily. A blow to his back alerted him to the fact that his wounded adversary had rejoined the fray. It was a brutal blow which propelled him forward. He caught his balance before he slammed into a wall. He was tiring quickly, the alcohol dulling his senses.

He retreated, swinging his sword threateningly between the two men. They attacked together. Athos parried a blow from one of the bats, relieved that the force didn't shatter his sword. Seconds later he was screaming as the heavy wood slammed onto his right forearm. His fingers went numb and the sword fell from his hand. He could feel the bones move in his arm and knew without any doubt that it was broken. Panting with the pain and effort he slipped, lost his balance completely and fell heavily to one knee. He saw the bat swinging towards his head and then everything went black.

TMTMTM

It was close to one o'clock when Treville was awakened by Giles, one of the men on sentry duty. "What's wrong?" He rubbed his eyes which were burning with tiredness and then squinted up at the man.

"It's Athos. He's hurt." Giles lined face, illuminated by the lamp he was carrying, was filled with concern.

Treville was out of bed and pulling on his breeches within seconds. "Where is he?"

"The infirmary."

"What happened?" He grabbed his boots, sat on the edge of the bed and put them on.

"A couple of Red Guard found him. They heard sounds of fighting in an alley and went to investigate. The men responsible got away. When they recognised Athos they brought him here."

"What are his injuries?" His words were muffled by his shirt as he pulled it over his head.

"All I know is that he's unconscious."

"Fetch Aramis."

The veteran Musketeer nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Treville hurried to the infirmary. Athos lay motionless on one of the beds, blood congealing on his face. It was impossible to tell what other injuries he might have sustained. Aramis joined him moments later, falling to his knees beside the bed and reaching to lay two finger above the pulse point on Athos' neck. Treville held his breath.

"I need hot water and clean cloths."

That was evidence enough that Athos lived. Without a word Treville headed for the kitchen. It took time to boil the kettle of water. As it began to heat he went to the supply cupboard and grabbed a handful of cloths. He waited impatiently until he was satisfied that the water was hot enough without being scalding. By the time he returned to the infirmary Athos had been stripped of his weapons belt, doublet and shirt. He quickly poured some water into a pewter bowl and carried it over to the bed.

"Look." Aramis pointed to an area of bruising over Athos' torso. "His ribs are cracked but I can't tell how badly. And this." He carefully lifted Athos' right arm. "There is a break in the forearm. Fortunately the bone isn't displaced." After rolling up his sleeves he took the bowl and a cloth from Treville and began to clean a nasty gash in Athos' scalp. "I am most concerned by the fact he's still unconscious. I believe you should send for a physician. If he has a head injury, which seems likely, it is beyond my skills."

"I will get word to Doctor Lemay."

"What happened?" Aramis sounded bewildered. "Why would someone attack him?"

Treville shook his head. "All I know is that the assault was interrupted by the Red Guard. Without their intervention, or if he hadn't been found until morning, I believe he would have died."

The water had rapidly turned crimson as Aramis methodically worked his way from end to end of the cut.

"The bleeding is slowing. I need my suture kit."

"I will stay with him while you fetch it."

Treville sat on the bed next to Athos and looked down on the lax face. Athos was pale and completely unresponsive.

"We will need to bind his ribs and immobilise his arm too," Aramis continued. He dried his hands on a towel, leaving a smear of blood on the white material.

"He won't be happy about that when he wakes up."

Neither man would give voice to his fear that Athos wouldn't waken. It was an inconceivable thought.

"I will be right back."

Treville leaned forward and gripped Athos' left hand. The skin was cold so he pulled a blanket up over the ailing man's chest. The slight rise and fall reassured him that his lieutenant still clung to life. But, he had seen many head wounds during his years as a soldier and he knew their danger.

"Why would someone want you dead?" he murmured.

TMTMTM

Aramis paused outside Porthos' room. Should he wake his brothers? Didn't they have a right to know that their leader lay grievously injured? Finally he turned away. There was nothing they could do except worry. Let them get a good night's sleep because he had the feeling they would be holding vigil for a long time. When he entered the infirmary he was surprised to see Treville leaning forward gripping Athos' hand tightly. The Captain was clearly taking this hard, not that Aramis would have expected anything else. When Treville saw him he immediately moved aside.

"I will send one of the sentry's to locate Lemay."

"That would be wise. This can't wait until the morning. Can you also find two straight pieces of wood to use to splint his arm?"

Treville nodded and left immediately to make the arrangements.

Aramis laid down the small bottle of brandy he had brought with him before unrolling his suture kit. He carried the bowl with the blood stained water to the door and poured it away. Once it was filled with fresh water he washed his hands and dried them thoroughly.

"I don't wish you any pain, my friend, but I pray you react to this." He poured brandy over the head wound, watching carefully to see if the burning sensation might rouse Athos to consciousness. Although he held his breath in anticipation he was disappointed. There wasn't the slightest hint of movement. With a defeated sigh he threaded the needle and set to work. Athos continued to lie like a man near death.

"Word is on its way to the Palace," Treville said as he rejoined Aramis. He laid down two pieces of wood and went to the cupboard to find bandages.

Aramis tied off the last stitch and rested his hand on Athos' shoulder. "You aren't making this easy for us. How about you open those eyes?" Although he waited hopefully for a minute there was no reaction to his words. Disheartened, he turned his attention to Athos' arm, carefully feeling around the break to ensure that the bones hadn't shifted out of position. He laid one piece of wood on each side of the arm and held out his hand for the bandages. Once the splints were secured he sat back and flexed his shoulders which had stiffened as a result of his hunched posture. "We need to wrap his ribs and then there is nothing more we can do until Lemay gets here."

Treville moved behind Athos and raised him upright, being careful not to do further damage to the arm. Athos lay limply in his grasp, his head hanging forward and his hair obscuring the bruises on his face. His breathing remained shallow and uneven. Aramis wound the bandages around Athos' chest, tightly enough for support but not so tight that it would compromise his breathing.

"Do you know where Athos went tonight?" Treville asked, laying the injured man back onto the bed.

Aramis shook his head. "He has taken to drinking alone again. Seeing Milady installed as the King's mistress has shaken him. We hoped he would rally if we just gave it a little time. I can see now that we were foolish to let him go off without us."

"You had no way of knowing this would happen."

"We should have anticipated it. His tolerance for alcohol is remarkable but everyone has their breaking point. I can smell the wine on his breath. If he had been sober this never would have happened."

"We can't be sure about that. We don't know how many attacked him."

"Where did this happen?"

"I can't say for certain. Tomorrow I will send Porthos and d'Artagnan to speak to the Red Guards who found him. We will find out the truth of what happened."

"You don't think this was a random attack?" Aramis felt Athos forehead, which was reassuringly cool. He pulled up the blankets and tucked them loosely around his friend's body.

"It's possible but somehow I doubt it. No, there is something more at play here. I'm convinced of it."

"Then we must pray that Athos wakes soon so that we can ask him."

Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Two**

By Aramis' reckoning it was over an hour before a dishevelled Dr. Lemay arrived clutching his medical bag. Much to his dismay there had been no change in Athos' condition during that time.

"Captain Treville. What is so urgent that I have to be woken in the middle of the night?" Lemay asked querulously.

Treville stood and gestured towards the bed. "One of my men was attacked. We believe he was hit over the head."

That brought an immediate change in the doctor's demeanour. "How long has he been unconscious?" Lemay walked closer to the bed, exchanging a brief nod of greeting with Aramis.

"We're not exactly sure but it must be close to two hours." Aramis reluctantly moved aside to give the doctor access to his patient.

"I see he sustained other injuries. You appear to have done a good job of caring for them. Now, let me see." He deposited his bag on an empty bed and began his examination. First he peeled back Athos' eyelid and held a lantern before his face. "No reaction," he mumbled. Next he felt his way around Athos' skull. "There is a mild depression here." He pointed to the area of the stitched cut. "The blow must have had considerable force behind it. He's lucky to be alive."

"When will he waken up?" Aramis asked.

"Sadly there is no guarantee that he will awaken."

Aramis' stomach clenched painfully. "He's strong."

"Even the strongest man can be felled by a severe blow to the head."

Aramis returned to his post at the side of the bed, running a hand over the blanket to smooth out the creases. The smell of wine soured the air. "Is there anything you can do?"

"I'm afraid not. Keep a close watch on him and call me if he wakes. Be warned though that he could have sustained a trauma to his brain. Even if he wakes up he could be…impaired."

Even though he knew that was a possibility the shock of hearing it stated by the doctor took Aramis' breath away and left him light-headed. Athos valued his ability to logically work through a problem and strategise. It was what made him a good leader even though he would vehemently deny it. He would be devastated if that ability was torn away from him.

"Thank you, Doctor." Treville took his arm and led him to the door. "We are grateful for your time."

Aramis leaned forward, gripped his crucifix and began to pray quietly. When he felt a hand on his shoulder he looked up to meet the concerned gaze of his superior officer. "I will sit with him," Aramis said. "You should go back to bed."

"I don't abandon my men when they need me," Treville said gently.

They sat in companionable silence while the candles burnt down. Aramis didn't remove his gaze from Athos for a second, being afraid he would miss the slight signs that his friend was on the verge of rousing. Every hitch in his breath had Aramis leaning forward eagerly only to be disappointed as Athos' eyes stayed resolutely shut. Eventually they began to hear the sounds of movement out in the yard and he knew he couldn't delay any longer in telling Porthos and d'Artagnan about the situation. He was torn between his wish to remain with Athos and his sense of duty to his other friends but was saved from having to make the decision by Treville.

"I will impart the news to Porthos and d'Artagnan. Then you will get some rest. You have been awake for most of the night."

"As have you."

Treville squeezed his shoulder. "It isn't the first time that I have gone without sleep."

He left the infirmary and Aramis heard him exchanging a few words with someone outside before all went quiet again. The peace didn't last. It was barely five minutes later that Porthos and d'Artagnan burst into the infirmary.

"How is he?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Why didn't you wake us?" Porthos demanded to know.

"He is still unconscious and I didn't waken you because there was nothing you could have done."

"We could have been here," Porthos said with a hint of belligerence. "We should have been here. What if he had died in the night?"

"You needed your sleep…"

"No, Aramis, we needed to be here." Porthos crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"Now isn't the time to argue," d'Artagnan said, clearly intent upon diffusing Porthos' anger.

"I'm sorry, my friends. I wasn't thinking clearly," Aramis said wearily. He saw Porthos' furious expression begin to soften. Not that he took his friend's anger personally. They were all worried about Athos.

"You should get some sleep." D'Artagnan approached the bed and looked down, his face a mask of worry.

"I will once he wakes up." Aramis knew that to be a lie. Athos would need a great deal of care once he woke. He clearly had a concussion which would result in pain and nausea. That, coupled with his other injuries, would make for a miserable time. It would take days for the worst of the symptoms to die down and Aramis was resolved not to leave him alone until they did.

"Treville said Lemay was here. Why didn't he do somethin'?"

"Sometimes medicine has no answers." Aramis shoulders slumped. "He is grievously hurt."

"I'll kill the bastards that did this to him." Porthos' hands closed into fists before relaxing again.

"The Captain wants you and d'Artagnan to speak to the Red Guards who found him. See where the attack took place and try to work out where he had been drinking. Maybe that will give us some clue as to the perpetrators."

"I don't think we should leave him," d'Artagnan said.

"You can be of more use out in the city helping to catch those responsible. He might not wake for hours yet." Or he might not wake at all, a treacherous part of his mind whispered.

D'Artagnan sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a lock of hair out of Athos' eyes. "He looks so peaceful."

"He won't be peaceful when he wakes up. With all those injuries he'll be in a lot of pain." Aramis stood up and stretched. The muscles in his neck and shoulder were all bunched up and he stifled a groan as he gently rotated them in order to loosen them up.

"I'll fetch breakfast," Porthos said. "Then we'll talk to the Captain."

After Porthos left Aramis went to the medicine cabinet and selected the herbs he would need to make a pain killing draught. He put them in a heavy stone mortar, added water, and began to grind them down. The activity was soothing after the strain of the night. It at least felt as if he was doing something productive. Once he was satisfied that the herbs were ground finely enough he added a dash of honey to the mixture to make it more palatable. He poured the mixture into a cup and carried it over to the bed.

D'Artagnan was sitting hunched over, his hand resting on Athos' arm. "Do you think he will be alright?"

"I don't know. The longer he remains unconscious the less chance there is that he will wake up. Dr. Lemay was not optimistic."

"Athos is a fighter. He won't give up."

The door banged open and Porthos returned carrying a tray. He distributed bowls of porridge and cups of ale. Aramis ate only because he knew that he had to keep up his strength. Athos, if he returned to them, would be facing a lengthy recovery and would need considerable help and support. Once they had finished Porthos and d'Artagnan reluctantly left to speak to Treville. Aramis resumed his solitary vigil, clinging to the slenderest of hopes like a lifeline. What would they do if Athos died? How would they survive the loss? He thought that it just might destroy them.

TMTMTM

The Red Guards proved to be surprisingly cooperative and even sympathetic. Following their directions Porthos and d'Artagnan soon arrived in the alley where Athos had been attacked.

"Damn, this place smells ripe," Porthos said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What was Athos doin' here?"

D'Artagnan walked slowly along the muddy roadway, stopping and hunkering down when he spotted a blood stain. "This is where it happened. That's our brother's blood." He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as he imagined what it must have been like for Athos to fight for his life in this god-forsaken alley.

"And this is what they used to beat him." Porthos picked up a wooden club that was lying abandoned behind a pile of refuse. "There's blood soaked into the wood."

D'Artagnan stood and looked around. The houses that backed onto the alley were in poor condition, some little more than derelict buildings with doors and shutters hanging askew on their hinges. "I don't suppose anyone saw anything?"

"If they did they're not goin' to tell us. They'll be too afraid of retribution. This is a rough part of town. The streets are run by gangs who don't take kindly to anyone interferin' in their business."

"We know Athos had been drinking. Where are the nearest taverns?"

Porthos turned in a slow circle while he considered the question. "The Falcon's a couple of streets away in that direction." He pointed to the north. "There's the King's Head and the Cross Keys a few blocks east of here."

"Why would he come here? There are safer places to drink close to the garrison."

"I reckon he wanted his privacy. No-one around here would be likely to recognise him."

It cut deep to the soul that Athos was so desolate that he had sequestered himself away from his friends. They should have been with him. "Let's start at the Falcon and work our way from there."

Porthos nodded and threw the club back onto the ground. It landed with a dull thud. D'Artagnan suppressed a shiver as he imagined the weapon connecting with Athos' body. Then he saw something shimmering in the dull glare of the sun. "His sword." He picked it up and studied it. "There are flecks of blood on the blade. Whoever attacked him didn't get away without some injury."

Porthos smiled proudly. "That's our Athos. Never was one to go down without a fight."

"He'll want this back." D'Artagnan clutched it hard, a tangible connection to their injured leader.

"Let's go and knock some heads together," Porthos said with enthusiasm. "We'll find out where he spent the evening and then we'll figure out who did this to him. And, when we do, we'll make them pay."

Tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Three**

The air in the infirmary began to grow warm and Aramis found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes open. He would doze, jerk awake and then his eyelids would begin to slide shut again. When he heard a faint groan from the direction of the bed he at first thought he was dreaming. Then it happened again and all thought of sleep was forgotten.

"Athos? Can you open your eyes? Athos?" He kept his voice low, knowing from experience that Athos would wake with a blinding headache.

"Ar'mis?"

"Yes, my friend, I'm here. Take it slow. You had a nasty bang on the head."

Athos' eyes cracked open and immediately slammed shut. "Hurts."

"I imagine it does. Can you try again for me?"

There was a long delay before Athos opened his eyes and looked around blearily. His forehead immediately scrunched up in pain. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me but first we need to do something about the pain."

Athos paled even further and began to look distressed. "Sick." He rolled over onto his left side immediately aggravating his ribs and arm. A sharp intake of breath and a whimper escaped his lips as the full extent of his injuries penetrated the fog inhabiting his mind.

Aramis shoved a bowl under his chin and rested his other hand on Athos' back. Stale wine erupted in a fountain, splashing into the bowl. Athos retched and heaved as sweat formed on his forehead and tears leaked from his eyes. It went on a very long time until finally he was left dry heaving and almost curled in on himself as agony coursed through his body.

After carefully easing Athos onto his back Aramis removed the bowl and fetched a cup of water. He slipped an arm under Athos' shoulders and raised him up only enough to allow him to sip the liquid. The smell of vomit was almost overwhelming.

"In addition to a concussion you have a broken arm and cracked ribs," he said. "We will let your stomach settle a little and then I have a pain draught. It should help to take the edge off." He wet a cloth and gently began to wipe Athos face to remove the traces of vomit from his mouth and beard. After rinsing and wringing it out he folded it into a pad and laid it over Athos' eyes.

"Do you remember how you came to be hurt?"

A minute shake of the head was the only answer he received. He wasn't entirely surprised. Often a serious head injury could result in short term amnesia. He just hoped it wasn't a symptom of a more severe problem. He noticed that Athos seemed to be concentrating on his breathing, probably to keep the nausea at bay.

"Porthos and d'Artagnan are trying to retrace your steps from last night."

"Last night?"

"Yes. It is close to noon. You have been unconscious for the best part of twelve hours. What is the last thing you remember?"

"We were on duty at the palace." Athos thought for a minute, the lines on his forehead showing how hard he was concentrating. "The King met a delegation of tradesmen. They were upset that he had banned all trade with Spain."

Aramis frowned. "That was two days ago."

"How did I get these injuries?"

"You were attacked late last night. You had gone off on your own for the evening after an encounter with Milady while we were at the palace yesterday. It made you morose." That was an understatement. Athos had fallen into a black mood, withdrawn and uncommunicative.

"Milady? Why was she at the palace?"

Aramis was glad his friend couldn't see his expression of surprise. "She's the King's mistress. Remember?"

"Oh." There was a long silence. "It seems I have some gaps in my memory." Athos removed the cloth from his eyes and looked expectantly at his friend.

"I'm sure the memories will return once you start to heal. Rest now. I will send word to Dr. Lemay. He came to see you last night and asked to be informed once you wakened."

Aramis walked into the yard, his heart hammering in his chest. How could Athos forget about Milady and the King? What other memories had been lost? Was this all a symptom of a more severe brain injury? The questions swirled around in his mind and he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated by the lack of answers. He caught sight of the stable boy and beckoned him over.

"Jacques, can you ask the Captain to send for Dr. Lemay? Tell him that Athos is awake."

Jacques pulled a piece of straw from his untidy hair and grinned. "The Captain'll be happy to hear that."

Aramis smiled in response, hiding his fears from the boy. When he returned to the infirmary he found Athos cradling his right arm to his chest. His eyes were half-open and his breathing was ragged.

"How bad?" Athos asked.

"It's a clean break. With time it should heal."

"Will it affect my swordsmanship?"

Aramis could hear the fear in Athos' voice. "Your arm will be weak for a while. With patience and perseverance I believe you will regain your skill. Now, how does your stomach feel?"

"Like it's been turned inside out."

"That's to be expected." Aramis picked up the cup containing the pain medication. "Drink this slowly. Stop if you begin to feel sick." He helped Athos to sit up, placing pillows behind his back to support him.

Athos clutched the cup awkwardly in his left hand and brought it to his lips. His face took on a look of disgust. "It smells dreadful."

"I'm afraid the taste isn't much better."

It took several minutes for Athos to force it down. During the process he retched a few times but managed to keep it in his stomach. Aramis lowered him back to the mattress where he lay with his eyes shut, white-faced and trembling with weakness.

"How is he?"

Athos cracked open one eyelid in response to the Captain's voice.

"He's in a great deal of pain."

"I've sent for Lemay. Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"He has had a pain draught which should help. Really all he needs now is rest."

"Captain," Athos said.

"It's good to see you awake. You gave us quite a cause for concern." Treville took Aramis' arm and drew him away from the bed. "How is his memory?"

"He has lost several days and…he didn't remember that Milady is the King's mistress."

"Could he be blocking it out?"

"I'm no doctor but I suppose it's possible. Perhaps Lemay will know."

"He's lucid?"

"Yes."

"Then we must look on the positive side."

Aramis nodded even though his fears refused to release their hold.

TMTMTM

Their visit to the first two taverns had yielded no useful information. Now they stood outside the Cross Keys, disheartened and desperate to return to the garrison to check on Athos. Porthos pushed open the door and entered first. The air smelt of stale beer and wine with a slight overlay of a more appealing aroma coming from the direction of the kitchen. The small portly man behind the bar looked up from his task of washing the cups and glasses.

"We're closed. Come back at noon."

"We're not here to drink," d'Artagnan said. "I am d'Artagnan of the King's Musketeers. This is Porthos. We are looking for information."

This announcement drew the attention of a heavily built woman who was busily sweeping the floor. She gave a gap-toothed smile and tucked a wayward strand of faded red hair behind her ear. "What can we do for the King's elite guard?" she asked, simpering in d'Artagnan's direction.

"I think she likes you," Porthos whispered, earning himself an elbow in the ribs.

"One of our friends was attacked last night not far from here. We are trying to find out where he was drinking during the evening."

"Your friend have a name?" the innkeeper asked.

"Athos."

"I know him. Used to come in here a lot. Always felt he was drowning his sorrows. He was like that last night too."

"He was here?" Porthos asked.

"He was. Sat over there at the back of the room. Kept himself to himself. Got through three bottles of wine. He has an impressive ability to hold his drink."

"That's very interesting Monsieur…?" D'Artagnan looked enquiringly at the innkeeper.

"Marchaud. Pascal Marchaud. That's my wife Hilaire."

"We're not in some kind of trouble are we?" Madam Marchaud asked, leaving her sweeping and joining her husband behind the trestle bar. "We're just honest folk trying to earn a living. Although, god knows, that's hard enough these days."

"No trouble, Madam. We are just trying to trace our friend's footsteps." D'Artagnan was happy to take the lead with the questioning, leaving Porthos to look intimidating.

"Seems to us that someone might have followed him from here last night," Porthos said, walking closer to the bar.

The innkeeper and his wife began to look nervous.

"Couldn't say if he was or not," Marchaud said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Oh, I think you can do better than that," d'Artagnan said. "We'd hate for things to get ugly."

"You can't come in here threatening us." Hilaire put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"Not so keen on you now, is she?" Porthos muttered.

"Now, my dear, we don't want to antagonise these fine gentlemen," Pascal said in conciliatory tones.

"Don't you 'my dear' me. They haven't got no right."

Porthos began to study the barrels of ale and shelves of wine behind the bar. "It would be a pity if something were to happen to your stock in trade," he said conversationally.

Marchaud's face grew as red as his nose. "I thought Musketeers were honorable men."

D'Artagnan put his hand on Porthos' arm. "We are. Look, we are worried about Athos. He was badly beaten and when we left the garrison he was still unconscious." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "He might die."

The innkeeper's expression turned sheepish. "I'm sorry to hear that. He's a good man."

"Then help us find the men that attacked him."

Marchaud bit his lower lip, looking troubled. "You've got to understand that we have to live amongst these people. If they found out we were helping Musketeers they'd do worse than your friend was threatening."

"You have my word that no-one will know you gave us the information." D'Artagnan did his best to look conciliatory.

"Don't you do it, Pascal."

"No man deserves to be beaten so badly that he might die." He looked beseechingly at his wife who continued to glower at him. With a heavy sigh he turned back to d'Artagnan and Porthos. "There were four men, sitting at the table next to him. I doubt if they knew he was a Musketeer since he was sitting mostly in the shadows."

"Pascal!"

"Hush. They deserve to know the truth."

Madam Marchaud turned away angrily. "You'll get us killed and who'll look after the children if that happens?"

"Don't mind her. She's scared and rightly so but I'll do my duty as a citizen. They were talking quietly, seemed to be ill at ease. Looked like they were plotting something. Then Athos got up to leave and they must have seen his pauldron. They followed shortly after."

"Would you recognise any of them?" Porthos asked.

"One of them's a regular. Name's Roland. He lives close by. He's likely to be here later. I could point him out to you."

"Thank you, Monsieur. One of us will come back this evening."

"I'll come back," Porthos said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.

They left the tavern in better spirits now that they had a lead. Having been away for most of the morning they were now anxious to return to the garrison to find out how Athos was faring. They hurried through the streets, arriving back just as the bells chimed for midday. When they entered the infirmary Aramis looked up and put a finger to his lips. He hustled them back outside again.

"He woke up a little while ago. Now, he's resting while we wait for Lemay."

"How is he?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He's in a great deal of pain and there are gaps in his memory. He couldn't tell me how he came to be hurt."

"Well, we've got some good news about that," Porthos said. "We've identified one of the bastards that attacked him."

"It sounds like you had a productive morning."

"Now we just have to find the others and work out why they did it." D'Artagnan looked longingly at the door. "Can we see him?"

Aramis nodded. "Be very quiet. He needs his sleep."

D'Artagnan grinned and hurried into the infirmary. Aramis put out a hand to delay Porthos. "What are you going to do about this man?"

"Watch him. See who he talks to. It sounds like Athos overheard something he shouldn't have. We need to figure out what's goin' on before we arrest anyone."

"You're being very restrained about this."

"Oh, don't think for a minute that I don't want to take him by the scruff of the neck and beat a confession out of him. But sometimes you have to be sneaky instead."

"Athos would be proud of you." Aramis put his arm around Porthos' shoulders. "Come on. Let's go and join our brothers."

Tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Four**

Heavy weights pinned his limbs to the mattress. At least, that was what it felt like as his muscles refused to respond to his wishes. He felt weak and shaky. It was the kind of unpleasant sensation that accompanied a long and debilitating illness. Even with his eyes closed he was experiencing a sense of vertigo, as if the world was revolving too quickly around him. It was disconcerting and he would have given anything for it to stop. Pain radiated from his head, chest and right arm, diminished by the pain draught but not defeated. He could hear his brothers talking in whispers close to his bedside although he couldn't understand the words. It was comforting to know they were near him.

Every attempt to remember what had happened to him was met with a spike in pain in his head. Aramis said he had been attacked. Clearly he must have been outnumbered or perhaps ambushed. What he did know was he was lucky to be alive. Any severe blow to the head risked death. What had been the motive? He couldn't think of anyone with such severe animosity towards him. Had it been a random attack? Perhaps a robbery gone wrong. He pursed his lips in frustration. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that there was something important he should remember.

He worried about the gaps in his memory. How could he have forgotten that Milady was the King's mistress? It still seemed inconceivable to him that the King would have taken up with such a creature but he had no reason to disbelieve Aramis. His friend wouldn't lie about something that important. He tried to picture her and the King together. It was obvious what had attracted her to him. Louis was the ultimate power in the country. It was less obvious what had attracted him. To Athos' knowledge this would be the first time the King had taken a mistress and he had certainly chosen a wholly unsuitable partner. Louis would be mortified if he learnt the truth of her past, particularly of her involvement with Richelieu as his spy and assassin. He worried about the Queen living in close proximity to the witch. Milady had been neck deep in the plot to kill Her Majesty and it was unlikely that she had foresworn her previous murderous nature.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and pried open his eyes. Aramis' concerned face filled his vision. The vertigo increased and his stomach lurched.

"Are you going to be sick again?" Aramis asked.

"Not if I can help it."

A cool cloth touched his forehead, wiping away the sweat that seemed to accompany any attempt to move or talk. He turned his head slowly, grimacing at the pain and frustrated by the effort needed to accomplish such a small action.

"Dr. Lemay is here to see you," Aramis said before moving away from the bed.

"It is good to see you awake." Lemay stepped closer. "I want you to follow my finger." He held up his right index finger and slowly moved it to right and left.

Athos' tired eyes tracked the movement sluggishly.

"I'm going to ask you some questions," Lemay said. "What is your name?"

Athos looked at him as if he was an idiot although he suspected his glare lacked its usual strength. "Athos."

"Good. Now, what year is it?"

"1631."

"Do you know where you are?"

"The infirmary at the Musketeer garrison."

"Excellent. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Athos closed his eyes. "No."

"He has lost two days' worth of memories," Aramis said. "And…"

Athos could hear the hesitation in his friend's voice and knew what he was about to say. "It appears I have also forgotten that the King has a mistress."

"That's unexpected. Why, in particular, would your mind choose to forget that?"

There was a strained silence. Athos knew that none of them would betray his secret to an outsider but he also knew that it could be symptomatic of a more deep-seated injury. At this point he had no way of knowing what else he might have forgotten.

"It is vital that the information I am about to give does not leave here," he said. The virulence of his headache increased as his anxiety grew.

"I would never betray a patient's confidence," Lemay said.

He swallowed to clear his throat. "Milady de Winter was once my wife. She murdered my brother."

"Dear God. You must tell the King. His life could be in danger."

"Not likely," Porthos said. "He's her route to power and money. She'll not harm him."

"If she is a murderer why is she still alive? Surely she should have been handed to the authorities for judgment."

"I was the authority and I rendered judgment but she evaded punishment."

"You were a nobleman?" There was no mistaking the surprise in Lemay's voice.

"We're are getting off the point," Aramis said. "Could this explain why Athos forgot?"

"Certainly. It is obviously traumatic for him to see Milady with the King. However, it could also mean there are other gaps in his memory. Only time will tell."

"Thank you, Doctor." Athos lay bonelessly on the bed, exhaustion nibbling at the edges of consciousness.

"I will check on you again tomorrow. In the meantime you are to stay in bed." Lemay turned to Aramis. "You have something to help with the pain?"

"Yes."

"He is to drink it every four hours. He can be allowed to sleep but you must wake him every two hours and ensure that he is coherent. Head injuries are tricky things. If his condition changes for the worse send for me immediately."

The sound of conversation gradually faded away until nothing was left and Athos slept.

TMTMTM

Porthos laid his weapons out on the table and picked up a cloth. He reached for his pistol and began to clean it.

"What do we know about this Roland?" Aramis asked.

"Not much. He apparently lives near the Cross Keys and he's a regular."

"I don't like it. You shouldn't be going back there without back up."

"You worry too much. I'm only goin' to keep an eye on him."

"What if he has his friends with him? Look what they did to Athos." Aramis gestured towards their friend who was deeply asleep and snoring slightly.

"I'm not wearin' my pauldron. They'll have no reason to suspect me."

"Are you sure you can trust the innkeeper?"

"Yeah. Him I'm sure about. His wife, not so much."

"All the more reason for one of us to accompany you."

Porthos turned his attention to his sword, wiping the soft cloth up and down the blade. "Stop worryin'"

"I will if you promise to be careful."

"I'm always careful."

He had changed his doublet for one of plain brown leather. It didn't make him look any less lethal but at least he wouldn't obviously stand out as being a Musketeer. He couldn't hide the fact that he was a soldier though. That was ingrained in his nature, in the confident way he walked and his handling of weapons. He stood up and returned his sword to its scabbard. The main gauche slid back into its customary position and he hooked the pistol over his belt.

"I'd best get goin'. There's not tellin' when Roland will turn up."

"Stay safe, my friend."

They clasped hands and exchanged a quick embrace before Porthos strode from the room.

TMTMTM

The Cross Keys was busy when Porthos arrived. Marchaud was serving behind the bar. To his relief there was no sign of the innkeeper's wife. He suspected she would be tending to the kitchen. His stomach growled, reminding him that he had missed lunch. He elbowed his way up to the bar. Marchaud gave a slight nod of greeting.

"What can I get you?"

"Wine and some food." He looked around until he found an empty table. "I'll be sittin' over there." He leaned forward so that he could speak quietly. "Is he here?"

Marchaud shook his head. "I'll let you know when he arrives." He handed over a bottle of wine and a glass before scooping up the coin Porthos laid on the scarred wood of the bar.

Porthos made his way to the table, scowling at two men who were obviously intent upon claiming it for their own. They backed away with muttered insults although neither seemed inclined to make an issue of it. He sat down, stretched out his legs and poured the wine.

It was only a few minutes later that he saw Madame Marchaud weaving her way between the patrons carrying a tray. Her thin lips were set in a disapproving line as she delivered a bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread. She banged the bowl down onto the table, causing its contents to splash up and over the rim. Porthos chose to ignore her temper and gave her his most charming smile in return. He was grateful when she left him, walking with quick angry strides back to the kitchen.

Despite her sour nature she was a good cook and Porthos enjoyed his meal. He had just mopped up the last bite when Marchaud came over to the table looking nervous.

"That's him." He gestured with his head to the doorway before scurrying away again.

Porthos took a sip of his wine and casually looked towards the door. The man who had just entered was small and scrawny with sharp weasel-like features. He had stopped to look around and was rubbing his right arm in an almost absent-minded way. From this distance Porthos couldn't be sure but he thought he saw the edge of a bandage peeking out from under the shirt cuff.

If Roland was looking for someone it was clear that he didn't find them because he then walked to a table that had just been vacated and sat down. Shortly after that Marchaud brought him a tankard of ale. Porthos was too far away to hear what was said but there was no sign that the innkeeper was warning Roland about his presence.

For the next hour he watched his quarry. Roland kept looking towards the door, clearly expecting someone to join him. The man began to look agitated, consuming several tankards of ale in quick succession. Finally he stood up, swaying slightly and made his way back to the door. Porthos drained his wine and got up to follow. He had only taken a couple of steps when another man entered the tavern. From the relieved look on Roland's face this was the person he had come here to meet. Porthos hurriedly sat down again as the two men returned to the table.

They engaged in deep conversation seemingly oblivious to everyone around them. Marchaud delivered more ale to the table before approaching Porthos again.

"Who's he?" Porthos asked.

"I don't know his name." Marchaud made a show of wiping the table with a cloth. "He was here last night though."

"So that's two of the bastards who attacked Athos?" His anger was a physical thing begging to be released and it was only his promise to Aramis that kept him from confronting the men. Also he had the feeling that there was more at stake here than claiming retribution for Athos' injuries.

"I can't say but they certainly followed him out of here."

Porthos fished in his pocket and brought out another coin which he offered to the innkeeper. "Thank you."

"There's no need…"

"Take it. Loyalty shouldn't go unrewarded."

Marchaud took the coin and nodded his thanks. "What are you going to do now?"

"Follow Roland's friend when he leaves here."

It was some considerable time later before the two men parted company. Porthos had finished his wine and resisted the urge to order a second bottle. He needed his senses about him if he was to avoid the same fate as Athos. He stepped out of the tavern in time to see Roland head off in one direction with his companion walking quickly in another. Porthos waited until the man was a fair distance ahead of him before following. It occurred to him that his quarry seemed a little too well dressed to be drinking in this part of town so he wasn't entirely surprised when their route took them to one of the better neighbourhoods of the city inhabited by the wealthier merchants. He ducked back when the man reached a house and turned to look around him. When he cautiously peered round the corner the man was entering the house with the door closing behind him. Deep in thought at this unexpected turn of events he returned to the garrison.

Tbc


	5. Chapter 5

I'm sorry for the delay and for the fact that this is a short and not very good chapter. I spilled liquid on my laptop last week and completely destroyed the motherboard. It resulted in having to buy a new one which isn't something I wanted to do. Then I hit a bout of writer's block which I am trying to work through.

 **Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Five**

When Porthos walked into the infirmary the next morning he found both Athos and Aramis fast asleep. Reasoning that neither had likely had an easy night he left as silently as he had arrived. D'Artagnan was waiting for him in the mess hall, a plate of bread, cheese and cold ham sitting in front of him.

"They're sleepin'"

"I know I checked on my way here." D'Artagnan poured ale into a cup and pushed it towards Porthos. "Did you find anything out last night?"

"Roland turned up just like the innkeeper said. Looked like he had an injury to his arm. I'd guess that Athos didn't go down easily."

"I wouldn't expect him to. Even drunk he's a force to be reckoned with." There was pride in d'Artagnan's voice.

Porthos nodded his agreement and helped himself to some breakfast. "He met up with someone."

"Who?"

"I don't have a name but I know where he lives. Avenue des Ternes."

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow. "That's unexpected. There're some nice houses there."

"He was well dressed too. Reckon he's a merchant, probably a successful one."

"This doesn't make any sense. Why would a merchant want Athos dead?"

"Maybe we should ask him."

"Don't be too hasty, Porthos. There could be a larger conspiracy at play here."

"No harm in makin' enquiries. Subtly of course."

D'Artagnan grinned. They both knew that Porthos didn't really know the meaning of subtlety. His preference was to charge at a problem head on and beat it into submission. "Maybe you should leave that to me."

Porthos acknowledged the suggestion with good grace. "It's the third house down on the right as you head towards Notre Dame. Try not to get into any trouble."

"I can look after myself."

"Yeah. That's what Athos thought too and look at him now."

They ate in silence for a while, acknowledging the greetings of their fellow Musketeers as the garrison woke into life again. Finally d'Artagnan pushed his plate away and sat back.

"Aramis is worried about Athos. I can see it on his face."

"Head injuries are dangerous but Athos seems to be doin' well."

"But the gaps in his memory…"

"There's no sense worryin' about them. He'll either remember or he won't but he seemed lucid enough when he was talkin' to Lemay."

"Yes, you're right. We should check on him before I go and we'd better inform the Captain of what you found out."

"Right." Porthos drained his cup and stood up. "Let's go and see if he's still bein' compliant. Want a wager that he's tryin' to get out of bed?"

"I have more sense than to wager with you. Besides, I know Athos, and nothing will keep him down."

TMTMTM

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Athos stopped trying to manoeuver his legs over the side of the bed and looked a little sheepishly at their resident medic. "I was tired of lying down."

"You have a broken arm, cracked ribs and a concussion. Why on earth would you think it was a good idea to get out of bed?" Aramis gently pushed against his shoulder, forcing him back onto the mattress. "Do you need something for the pain?"

"It's manageable."

"Somehow I doubt that." Aramis sat on the edge of the bed he'd been sleeping in. It had been a difficult night with Athos becoming more fractious each time he was woken up. Fortunately, he had been lucid each time so the chances of complications were slim. Except, of course, for the gaps in Athos' memory. "Have you remembered anything about the attack?"

"Nothing except for an uncomfortable feeling that there is something I need to remember."

"Maybe Porthos will have some news for us. It seems likely you overheard something that was supposed to stay secret."

"It's frustrating." Athos sat up again, his left arm held protectively around his ribs. "I should be out there asking questions."

"You should be lying down and getting some rest. You were badly hurt and those aren't injuries which are going to heal overnight."

The door opened and d'Artagnan and Porthos walked into the room.

"I'm surprised you're still in bed," d'Artagnan said. "Maybe I should have taken Porthos' wager after all."

"What wager?" Athos asked.

"That you'd be out of bed already."

"Don't think he didn't try," Aramis said.

Porthos grinned. "You're too predictable."

"Never mind that. What did you find out?" Athos leaned back against the wall, lines of pain creasing his forehead.

Aramis tutted and went to mix a pain draught. "Was it a fruitful evening?"

"Yeah. Roland met with a man who was too well-dressed for his surroundings. I followed him to a house on the Avenue des Ternes."

"A man with money then," Athos said thoughtfully. "I wonder what he and Roland were talking about?"

"I wasn't close enough to overhear them. Didn't want to make them suspicious."

"Once we've updated the Captain I'm going to see what I can find out about our mysterious stranger," d'Artagnan said.

"I don't like the thought of you going alone." Athos grimaced as Aramis handed him a cup. "I don't suppose you could mix it with wine?"

"Wine would be very bad for your health right now. Drink it."

When Athos complied without further complaint Aramis knew that the pain must be bad. He'd suffered all those injuries at one time or another in his career but to have all of them together must be close to unbearable.

"It's daylight. The streets will be full of people," d'Artagnan said, hoping to assuage his mentor's worry.

"I should go with you."

Aramis looked at his friend in amazement. "You can barely stand and what happens if someone from the other night recognises you? They will know you are making enquiries about what happened. If anything you would be a liability."

"I don't like the idea of staying here while d'Artagnan walks into potential danger."

"I will be fine. All you need to do is concentrate on getting better."

Athos' eyes began to close and he yawned widely. Now that the pain had lessened his body was insisting upon him resting. He looked almost accusingly at Aramis, as if it were his friend's fault that his body was betraying him. He slid awkwardly down to the mattress before making one last effort. "You come and see me the minute you get back," he said to d'Artagnan.

"You have my word."

"Go and tell Treville what's going on," Aramis said. "I will stay with Athos."

"Shall we bring you breakfast?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Yes, thank you. And, see if Serge can make some broth for Athos. He hasn't eaten anything since he first woke up and I doubt his stomach could handle anything more substantial."

After Porthos and d'Artagnan had left he sat down wearily and pushed a hand through his disordered hair. He gazed at his sleeping friend and shook his head. "What secrets did you overhear I wonder? They must have been important. No-one attacks a Musketeer without serious provocation. I wish you could remember for I fear that the security of the realm might be at stake."

Tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Six**

The Avenue was lined with cherry trees, their branches heavy with blossom. The scent, though, was barely discernable over the normal city smells of refuse and horse droppings. D'Artagnan easily identified the house described by Porthos and stood in the shade of one of the trees on the opposite side of the street to observe it. The building consisted of three floors sturdily built from brick. The windows were glazed and the roof was black slate. A low fence separated it from the road and there was a small well-tended garden in the front. It was clearly the home of a wealthy man.

As he continued to watch the wooden front door opened and two women descended the three steps leading to the path. One was young, not much taller than five feet with light brown curls escaping from underneath a fashionable hat with colourful feathers in it. Her petite body was swathed in a sky blue cloak which almost entirely covered a pale yellow dress. Her companion's cloak was dull brown and she wore a white apron over her equally drab skirt. The younger woman was talking animatedly, not waiting for any response from her servant. They both entered a carriage and soon had disappeared from sight.

There was no further activity so d'Artagnan walked along the street and approached a man and woman who were coming in the opposite direction.

"Excuse me, Sir. Madam." He bowed slightly. "I was wondering if you could help me."

"What is it you want?" The man took the woman's arm protectively before looking d'Artagnan up and down.

He, like Porthos, had removed his pauldron and had left his more conspicuous weapons back at the garrison, so he could imagine what the man was thinking. In his worn leathers he looked out of place on this prestigious street. No doubt the man was worried that he was to be accosted for alms.

"There is no need to be alarmed, Monsieur. I only wish to ask a question." He turned slightly and pointed to the house. "Do you know who lives there?"

"What is your interest?" the man asked suspiciously.

"My master sent me with a message but I have forgotten the name of the gentleman I am to give it to." D'Artagnan did his best to look embarrassed.

The well-dressed gentleman looked down his nose at him. "Your master should beat you for your carelessness."

D'Artagnan ground his teeth together and tried to look contrite. "He surely would if he found out." He turned wide eyes upon the woman who gave him a nervous smile.

"Where's the harm, Emile?" she said.

"Servants should know their place."

"I appeal to your kindness," d'Artagnan said bowing his head submissively, although what he really wanted to do was punch the smug bastard in the face.

"Oh, very well. The house belongs to Yves Lacroix."

"His mercantile carries the finest silks in all of Paris," the woman added with a note of envy in her voice.

"I am grateful for your assistance." D'Artagnan stood to one side to let them pass before turning and heading for the palace. Now he had a name and an occupation, and it occurred to him that Constance might know the man.

TMTMTM

"When can I get up?" Athos asked querulously.

"Tomorrow, if you do as you are told today."

Athos looked mutinous but he didn't argue much to Aramis' relief. He ladled warm broth into a cup and carried it over to the bed. "Can you manage?"

"Yes." Athos took the cup awkwardly with his left hand, hesitating before lifting it to his lips. After taking a couple of sips he became noticeably paler.

"Your stomach is still unsettled?" Aramis asked.

"It will pass."

Aramis retrieved the cup. "We will try again later."

Athos swallowed heavily. "Shouldn't d'Artagnan be back by now?"

"Stop worrying about him."

There was a disgruntled sigh before Athos relaxed back against his pillows. "Tell me about Milady and the King."

"Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"She means nothing to me. I only want to try to understand why I have blocked out the memory."

Aramis didn't believe him although it wasn't a debate that he wanted to have while his friend was so weak and vulnerable. "Do you remember when d'Artagnan and the King were kidnapped by slavers?" To his relief Athos gave a slight nod. "Surprising though it might be Milady played a part in their rescue."

"She was with them when we found them. The King pardoned her without knowing her nature or the number of her crimes."

"That's right. Well, a few days later she turned up living at the palace as his mistress. The Queen was distraught. It was particularly difficult for her because the Dauphin had been very sick…close to death." He would never forget his feeling of dread when he had learnt his son had been taken ill. He had spent many hours praying for the child's survival and had given joyous thanks when the news came that the fever had broken.

"It was a difficult time for you. I was relieved when news came that he had recovered."

"You remember that?" Aramis asked hopefully.

Athos looked puzzled. "Yes. We had been dealing with the Spanish and their explosive powder. Porthos was wounded and captured. You were…distracted. There was a battle in the marketplace. Innocent people died."

Aramis bowed his head to hide his expression. That fiasco had been of his making. He had hesitated to shoot the Spanish general because he was caught off guard by the sound of a crying baby and the whole situation had quickly gone to hell. "That's right."

"Why can't I remember the rest?" Athos asked in frustration.

"Perhaps because you are not immune to Milady and her rather dubious charms."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Aramis gave a small smile and shook his head. Like it or not there was still a connection between Athos and his wife even if he wouldn't admit to it. "The day you were attacked you had an encounter with her at the palace. She flaunted a necklace, an expensive piece of jewelry that was a gift from the King. She taunted you, saying that you had never been rich or important enough to buy her a present like that. You didn't respond but I could see that she had touched a nerve."

"Why? I have no care for wealth or position."

"I was left with the impression that she was comparing the necklace to a gift you had once given to her."

Athos frowned and stared off into the distance. "It was a family heirloom. A single flawless sapphire on a heavy gold chain. She told me that it was the most beautiful thing she had ever possessed. Knowing her history now I'm sure she was telling the truth. But, even as a Comte I couldn't compare with the King. She has risen high. From a street thief and assassin to the mistress of the King."

Aramis could hear wistfulness in his friend's voice. It appeared that he couldn't break the chain that bound him and Milady together. Not even the death of Thomas could completely erase what had been between them. "You shouldn't be over taxing yourself. Rest now. I should report your progress to Treville. He is worried about you."

Athos turned away from him. "Will you give me something to help me to sleep?"

"Of course," Aramis said, surprised by the request.

"Some memories are too painful," Athos said in a broken voice.

And that, to Aramis' mind, explained why Athos had been unable to handle the knowledge that Milady had seduced the King. He hastened to brew the sleeping potion which Athos drank eagerly. He waited until his friend had succumbed to its power before leaving to give a progress report to the Captain.

TMTMTM

Aramis returned to the yard just as d'Artagnan walked through the gates. Porthos emerged from the stables and they congregated around the table under the Captain's balcony.

"From the grin on your face I'm guessin' you found something useful," Porthos said.

"I did. The man's name is Yves Lacroix. He's a very wealthy merchant who imports the finest silks which he sells to the nobility and anyone else who can afford them. Want to guess where he gets them from?"

The pieces began to fall into place in Aramis' mind. "Spain."

"And the King's just given the order that no-one is to trade with Spain," Porthos said.

"That's right. It will ruin Lacroix. Apparently he started life as the first mate on a ship that traded between Le Havre and Spain. Rumour has it that he killed the captain and took the ship for himself. Now he owns two ships. He exports wheat and corn in exchange for silks."

"How did you find all this out?" Aramis asked.

"Once I found out his name and the nature of his business I went to speak to Constance. I thought she might know of him through her husband. She said that Lacroix is known to be ruthless in his business dealings and is seen as a leader and spokesman among the other merchants."

"I wonder if he was one of the merchants who petitioned the King a few days ago."

"That wouldn't surprise me, Porthos."

"So perhaps he's decided to take matters into his own hands," Aramis said thoughtfully.

"Maybe so but we still don't know what he's planning."

"We should arrest him," Porthos said.

"On what grounds? We have no proof that he was involved in attacking Athos and if we bring him in it will only drive the other conspirators underground." Aramis ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "We need to catch them in the act."

"There might be a way to find out what's going on," d'Artagnan said. "I saw a young woman leaving his house this morning. Constance told me he's engaged to be married."

"He's not likely to share his plans with his fiancée," Porthos said. "Even if he did what's to say she'd tell us?"

"I could try to get close to her. She might know something."

"It can't do any harm," Aramis said. "Porthos, you continue to watch Roland. He certainly seems to be involved in this. D'Artagnan can try to get acquainted with Mademoiselle…?

"Nathalie Aubert."

"Is she pretty?" Porthos asked, bumping a shoulder against d'Artagnan.

"In an insipid sort of way."

"Nothing compares to Constance, eh?"

"Don't tease him Porthos," Aramis said with a smile. "You know how sensitive he is about that subject."

D'Artagnan's countenance darkened. "While we're running around Paris investigating Lacroix what are you going to be doing?"

"I, my friends, have the hardest job of all. Sitting on Athos to make sure he doesn't interfere and get us all killed."

Tbc


	7. Chapter 7

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Seven**

Aramis was just returning with a tray containing two bowls of stew and some bread when Athos woke up. It was a gradual process and not entirely pain free if the lines on his friend's forehead were any indication. After setting the tray down on a nearby table he went to brew another pain draught, returning to find Athos watching him with a faint smile on his lips.

"You are certainly an attentive nursemaid," Athos said.

"Someone has to look after you and the others are busy." He offered the cup only to have it waved away. "Do you think you could eat something?"

There were a few moments of quiet reflection before Athos nodded. "My stomach feels far more settled now. How long did I sleep?" He used his left hand to lever his body upright, sucking in a breath as the movement aggravated his ribs. He waited for Aramis to position a pillow behind his back before letting himself relax.

"The best part of four hours. It is time for the evening meal." Aramis settled the tray across Athos' lap and took his own bowl over to a chair beside the bed. He watched as Athos with deep concentration wielded the spoon with his left hand. It was a clumsy process which saw gravy splattered across the bed but Aramis knew better than to intervene.

"D'Artagnan returned?" Athos asked between mouthfuls.

"He did and with some very interesting information. The man Porthos followed last night is a silk merchant who imports his wares from Spain."

Athos' brow furrowed. "That…I have a vague memory." He stared off into the distance. "Something teases at the back of my mind." He dropped his spoon into the bowl and raised his eyes to meet Aramis'. "Why can't I remember?" he said, frustrated.

"You know as well as I that concussion can affect your ability to remember. This is progress, though, and perhaps an indication that your memory will return."

"Whatever it is, it's important."

"I don't doubt that. Someone was prepared to kill you to keep it secret."

"Maybe if I went back to the tavern."

Aramis shook his head emphatically. "There are many reasons why that is a bad idea."

"It might draw out the men who did this."

"It's more likely to drive them away. If they see you alive they will be afraid that you have told us what you overheard."

"I can't lie here and do nothing."

"That is exactly what you are going to do, my friend. Tomorrow you can get up but you will stay confined to the garrison until you are well." Aramis could see Athos readying himself to protest. "Treville's orders."

Athos' mouth tightened into a hard line. "I won't be held prisoner," he protested.

"You will follow medical advice and the orders of our Captain. You are still at risk and have no way to defend yourself."

"I have you and Porthos and d'Artagnan."

"No," Aramis said decisively. "We will not put you in further danger."

"As you wish."

Athos' capitulation raised Aramis' anxiety level. It wasn't like his brother to back down from a fight. He had a nasty suspicion that the man was going to try and go around him. It meant that he couldn't afford to let Athos out of his sight. As they settled down for the night he wondered just what mad plan was being hatched in his friend's mind.

TMTMTM

Athos awoke to the sound of birdsong and a faint glimmer of daylight creeping in through the window. He lay still and took stock of his injuries. His headache had lessened and he no longer felt nauseous when he opened his eyes. There was a persistent aching in his arm and a sharper pain across his ribs if he breathed too deeply. He rolled onto his side to study the sleeping figure on the bed next to him. Aramis lay on his back snoring softly in deep and peaceful repose.

It was a painful struggle to sit up and Athos had to bite his lip to stop groans escaping. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited for his vision to stabilize. A few deep breaths were necessary to bring his stomach under control. He looked around for his boots, finally spotting them at the bottom of the bed. Pulling them on one-handed was awkward and time consuming. He kept darting glances at his friend, convinced that Aramis would wake at any moment and thwart his escape.

His doublet was slung across the back of a chair and that was where he left it. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep silent while maneuvering his broken arm into the sleeve. The next challenge was his weapons belt. He clamped his left arm down on it to hold it in place while he fumbled with the buckle. Several colourful swear words flitted across his mind as he used his right hand to thread the leather through the metal. The movements jarred his injured arm, reminding him of just how helpless he really was. He was not unskilled at using his sword in his left hand and, of course, that was the hand with which he wielded his main gauche but his injuries hampered his movements, slowing him down to a dangerous level.

Once he was armed he made his way towards the door, opening it only enough to see out into the yard. It wouldn't do to run into Porthos, d'Artagnan or Treville. It was obviously early enough that most of the Musketeers had not yet come down for breakfast. He pulled the door open further and slipped outside, keeping close to the wall. Once he was satisfied that he was unobserved he strode as quickly as he could towards the archway. The two sentries looked at him curiously.

"How are you feeling?" one asked.

Athos kept walking. "It wasn't as bad as it looked," he said. "I will only be a short while."

"Are you sure you should be out of bed?" Belvoir, the older of the two asked suspiciously.

"I am only going as far as the apothecary's shop down the street," Athos lied. "Dr. Lemay asked him to make up a new pain medication for me."

"I could go for you." Henri, recently commissioned, was eager to be of service.

"The air will help to clear my head but you have my thanks." He had reached the street now. Already his weakness was starting to betray him. His arms and legs trembled and sweat coated his brow. He put out a shaky hand to brace himself on the wall before gritting his teeth and setting one foot in front of the other with grim determination.

TMTMTM

Aramis knew something was wrong the minute he opened his eyes. He sat up abruptly and looked around the room. His keen gaze soon established that Athos' boots and weapons were missing. With a mumbled oath he got to his feet and hurried to the door. The sun had risen above the horizon and the yard was busy. He looked around frantically before heading to the mess hall. His expression must have betrayed his apprehension. As soon as Porthos saw him he was on his feet and covering the distance between them.

"What's wrong?"

"Athos is missing."

"How could that happen?" d'Artagnan asked, joining them.

"I fell asleep. He must have left early this morning."

"Damn fool," Porthos said. "Athos, that is. Not you. I'm not surprised you fell asleep. You must have been exhausted from lookin' after him."

"That's no excuse. I knew he wasn't to be trusted."

Porthos gripped his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't blame yourself."

"We have to find him. Where would he go?"

"Last night he was talking about going back to the tavern. He thought it might help him to remember what happened."

"At least he isn't likely to run into Roland or Lacroix this early in the day," d'Artagnan said.

"I hope you're right. I'll get my things."

Aramis strode quickly back to the infirmary to gather his coat and weapons. All the time he was grappling with the sick feeling that Athos was walking into more trouble than he could handle.

Tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Eight**

They found Athos less than half a mile from the garrison. He was leaning heavily against a wall, his face pale and his body shaking like an aspen in a high wind. D'Artagnan reached him first, putting an arm around his waist to support his weight. Passers-by looked at them curiously although none ventured to offer an opinion. Aramis wasn't so reticent.

"Why would you do that?" he asked, his voice raised. "I said you could get out of bed today, not go traipsing around Paris."

Athos ducked his head but not before Aramis saw him wincing. He stood breathing heavily and staring at their recalcitrant brother. He knew his anger stemmed from fear for Athos' safety and an almost overwhelming guilt. He had known his friend was a flight risk yet he'd allowed himself to fall asleep. He didn't think he could have lived with himself if anything bad had happened as a result. Now that they had found him safe he could feel his pent-up emotions draining away.

"I'm sorry," Athos mumbled, his face hidden by his hair. "I only wanted to help."

"I know." Aramis' tone softened as he beheld Athos' abject misery. "You can help best by getting well."

"I need to remember." When Athos raised his head, there was a challenging fire in his eyes. "Can you take me to where I was attacked?"

Aramis' refusal was over-ridden by Porthos.

"It's only a few streets away from here. He's got this far. Where's the harm?"

"Porthos is right." D'Artagnan tightened his grip on Athos. "And, it might help him."

Faced with such staunch opposition Aramis gave way. "Very well." He unslung the water flask he was carrying and held it out to Athos. "Drink this. It's medication for the pain."

Athos hesitated before reaching for the flask and removing the stopper. He took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. Then, with a resigned sigh, he drained the liquid.

Their progress was slow as Athos could do little more than shuffle along. Aramis followed Porthos and d'Artagnan's lead until they arrived in a refuse strewn alleyway. Athos pulled away from d'Artagnan and took a couple of unsteady steps. He looked around, slowly turning on the spot. Then, he bent forward with a hand flying to his head. Porthos steadied him until he was able to straighten up again, his face betraying the pain he was in.

"There were two men," he said haltingly. "I didn't get a good look at their faces. Two more blocked my escape. They must have followed me from the tavern." His lips twisted with frustration. "I still don't recall what happened before that or very much about the fight." He flexed his right hand. "One of them hit my arm with a club. The pain was…extreme."

"That's enough," Aramis said. "We need to get you back to the garrison to rest."

"The tavern?"

"No, Athos. You might not recognise them but they will certainly recognise you."

It was a mark of Athos' frailty that he didn't argue and that he let Porthos shoulder most of his weight on the walk home. Once they reached the yard Athos baulked at the idea of returning to the infirmary so they sat him on a bench in the sunshine. He had regained some of his colour and no longer looked to be on the verge of passing out.

While d'Artagnan went to fetch them some breakfast the other two settled beside Athos.

"I went to the tavern again last night," Porthos said. "Saw that Lacroix character. He met with five others this time. Three of them were well-dressed like him. The other two looked like hired muscle. He had a map of some kind and kept pointin' to places. I wasn't close enough to see where they were."

"We need to get someone close to him," d'Artagnan said, placing a tray down on the table. He handed out bowls of porridge.

"He doesn't look like the trustin' kind."

"Maybe not, but Constance said he is looked upon as a leader. It wouldn't seem strange for another merchant to seek him out for advice." Aramis turned the idea over in his head. "This all seems to stem from the King's edict against trade with Spain. Many merchants will be affected and all will be looking for ways to mitigate their losses. If I can persuade him of my fanaticism, he might let down his guard."

"You?" Athos asked.

"I'm the obvious choice. D'Artagnan is too young and Porthos doesn't look like a shop owner. No offence my friend, but no-one could mistake you for anything other than a soldier."

"I don't like the idea of you approaching Lacroix directly," Athos said. "If he were to find out you are a Musketeer your life would be in grave danger."

"We have to follow every avenue. Whatever he is plotting could affect the crown. Besides we are sworn to uphold the law whatever the personal risk."

"What about his fiancée?" d'Artagnan asked.

"There is still merit in you making her acquaintance. Find out everything you can about Lacroix. Even the smallest piece of information might help us." Aramis stood up. "I will inform Treville. He will need to keep us off guard rotation for a couple of days.

TMTMTM

Nathalie Aubert lived in one of the better parts of town with her parents. D'Artagnan loitered around a corner keeping an eye on the house. After spending a boring few hours he was rewarded when the young woman left the house just after noon. She was once again accompanied by her servant. He followed at a discreet distance as they visited several shops. Both women were laden with parcels by the time they turned towards home.

D'Artagnan cut through a couple of alleyways, returning to the main street ahead of his quarry. He walked quickly towards them, veering to his right as he passed so that he jostled Nathalie, causing her to drop what she was carrying.

"My apologies, Mademoiselle," d'Artagnan bent down to retrieve the packages. "I hope you are not hurt."

"You should watch where you are walking, Monsieur," Nathalie said crossly.

"You are quite right." D'Artagnan straightened up, the parcels held tightly to his chest. "Although my clumsiness has at least given me the opportunity to look on your beauty."

A faint blush appeared on Nathalie's cheeks. "You are very forward, Sir."

"Then I must apologise again if my words have upset you." He turned the full force of his smile on her and was rewarded with a softening of her expression.

"I suppose no harm has been done," she murmured.

"Will you allow me to walk you home? Someone as lovely as you shouldn't be burdened with carrying heavy packages." In truth there was very little weight but it was a perfect excuse to walk with her.

"You flatter me, Monsieur…?"

"D'Artagnan. May I enquire as to your name?"

"Nathalie Aubert."

"Ah, I recognise the name. You are betrothed to Yves Lacroix, the silk merchant."

"You are acquainted with my fiancé?"

"Alas, only by reputation. I am apprenticed to a master sword maker, Monsieur Joubaird. You might have heard of him."

"I'm afraid not."

Given that d'Artagnan had made the name up that wasn't a surprise. "He is a great admirer of your fiancé. He said Monsieur Lacroix was very forceful when they had their audience with the King about the trade embargo with Spain."

"Yves can be very passionate about causes close to his heart."

"My master says that something should be done to persuade the King to change his mind."

Nathalie gave a little shrug. "I am little interested in politics." She began to walk again with her servant trailing behind her.

"But surely the loss of your fiancé's business is of concern to you." D'Artagnan shortened his stride to keep pace with her.

"He has assured me that he is taking steps to protect his trade." Nathalie stopped and turned to him. "I thank you for your help but we can manage from here." She held out her hands and waited for him to surrender the packages to her.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Aubert." He bowed to her and stood watching as she crossed the street. He hadn't learnt very much but at least he now had confirmation that Lacroix wasn't the type of man to sit back and let his business be ruined.

Tbc


	9. Chapter 9

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Nine**

"How do I look?" Aramis had forsaken his leathers in favour of a deep blue doublet, white shirt and dark grey breeches.

Athos, who was back in bed and unhappy about it, scowled. "You look like a man who is about to risk his life unnecessarily."

"You worry too much." Aramis buckled his sword belt around his waist. "I am hardly helpless."

"Neither was I yet look how that turned out."

"There is one difference. I am not incapacitated by drink."

Athos acknowledged that with a grimace. "None the less you are playing with fire."

"Well, where would we be without a little excitement."

"You're enjoying this," Athos said accusingly.

"No." Aramis turned serious. "I am looking forward to the day when we bring the men who attacked you to justice." He settled his hat on his head. "You behave while I'm gone."

"As long as you are careful. If you get into trouble nothing will prevent me from coming to your aid."

"I would expect nothing less."

When he reached the yard he encountered Treville. Their captain didn't look a great deal happier than Athos.

"Be careful, Aramis."

"Always Captain." He looked back towards the infirmary. "Keep an eye on him. He is sicker than he will admit and his little excursion this morning didn't help."

"We will ensure he rests."

"Thank you." Aramis took a couple of deep breaths. "I should go. I have the feeling that we are running out of time."

TMTMTM

Aramis entered the Rue de l'Eglise just as the church bells rang the noon hour. Carriages clogged the roadway. Servants stood in groups, waiting while their masters visited the exclusive shops lining the street. Yves Lacroix's establishment was in a prime position at the intersection of another main thoroughfare. Large windows provided a bright environment for customers to admire his wares.

Aramis walked inside, nodding amiably to a pair of women who were almost drooling over a bolt of emerald green silk. He recognized one of them as the Countess de la Marche and quickly turned away, hoping she wouldn't identify him as a Musketeer. Generally, the aristocracy paid little attention to the soldiers guarding the royal family although there was always the possibility she would know his face.

He occupied himself with scanning the shelves. There were gaps, leading him to believe that Lacroix's trade had already been affected. Of course the rich would be flocking to his store to buy the silk before it became unattainable so he was likely turning a good profit in the short term.

It took an interminable time for the women to leave. As soon as they did Aramis approached the counter. Lacroix was a tall man with long brown hair tied back from his face. His brown eyes were without warmth as he looked at Aramis from head to toe. The shopkeeper had gold rings on four of his fingers, a visual reminder of his wealth. Aramis just found the display vulgar. He searched his memory to see if he could remember the man from the day at Court where the merchants protested the new law. He wasn't familiar but Aramis had to admit that his attention had been more focused on the Queen who seemed to have grown more lovely now that she was a mother. He suppressed a fond smile and brought his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"Can I help you?" Lacroix asked.

"You are Yves Lacroix?"

"I am."

Aramis held out his hand. "Rene Alvarado."

Lacroix hesitated before taking his hand in a firm grip. "Spanish?"

"I have that misfortune, yes. I came to Paris to establish a trade in gold and silver only to find that your king has banned such commerce."

"Why seek me out?"

"I have spoken to many merchants and all have praised your opposition to the King's new law. "

"Little good it has done." There was a noticeable undercurrent of bitterness in his tone.

"Then perhaps more direct action is called for."

Lacroix narrowed his eyes. "You talk of insurrection."

"Don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind."

"I am a loyal French citizen."

Aramis was far from convinced by that declaration. "You would watch all you have built be destroyed?" he pressed.

"Why do you care? You could just return to Spain and go on with your life."

"I would lose a lucrative trading opportunity. If the King could be persuaded to change his mind…" He let his words trail off, looking at Lacroix expectantly.

Lacroix was watching him with a great deal of suspicion and Aramis inwardly cursed the man's caution. If this didn't work, they would have no chance of discovering the plan before it was too late to prevent it. He held his hands out in a placating gesture.

"It seems I have spoken out of turn. My apologies for taking up your time, Monsieur." He began to turn towards the door.

"Wait. There are others of a like mind. Meet me tonight at the Cross Keys and I will introduce you to them."

Aramis bowed his head. "It will be my pleasure." He left the shop, passing another pair of customers, and let his breath out in a heavy sigh. Lacroix had either taken the bait or was setting him up for a beating. The odds on the outcome were evenly balanced as far as he could tell. He crossed the busy street and turned toward the garrison.

TMTMTM

After resting for most of the day Athos was determined that he was going to join his friends in the mess hall for dinner. His headache had continued to diminish and the aching in his arm and around his ribs had subsided to a manageable level. He still felt lethargic and weak although he wasn't going to admit that to anyone. Fortunately, he didn't have to do more than cross the yard to reach his destination because even that short distance left him soaked in sweat and trembling.

The room was full, hot and noisy and made his forehead crease as an unwelcome jolt of pain assaulted his head. The noise died down as his fellow Musketeers all turned to look in his direction. Embarrassed at being the focus of so much attention he quickly looked around for the others. They were easy to spot because d'Artagnan quickly stood and came over to offer his support. Athos waved the young man away and slowly wove his way between the tables. It was a relief to sit in the chair that Porthos pulled out for him.

"How do you feel?" Aramis asked.

He was still out of uniform and Athos knew his friend would soon leave for the tavern where he was to meet Lacroix. "Better than I was."

Dinner was roast chicken and vegetables. D'Artagnan filled a plate for him and then, much to his chagrin, cut the food into small pieces. He knew it was necessary with his right arm out of commission but that didn't help the unwelcome feeling of helplessness. Realizing that he was hungry he applied himself to the food.

"Wine?" he asked between mouthfuls.

"A small amount only." Aramis half-filled his cup. "It does not do well with the pain medication you have taken today."

Athos grunted his disapproval and continued to eat. He had cleared half his plate before his stomach began to protest so he reluctantly pushed the plate away and sat back. "What's the plan for tonight?"

"I meet Lacroix and find out what I can about his plans."

Athos turned to Porthos. "You will be there?"

"Damn right I will."

Athos began to relax. He could trust Porthos to ensure that no harm came to Aramis. "Exercise caution. He has at least two men who are willing to kill for him."

"We can handle it," Porthos said. "Anyone who tries to touch Aramis'll have to go through me first."

"I am more than capable of looking after my own safety."

"No-one doubts that," Athos said. "However, there is no reason why we shouldn't take precautions."

Aramis conceded the point gracefully.

Soon Porthos rose to his feet. "I'd better get goin'. We don't want to arrive at the same time." He unbuckled his pauldron and handed it to d'Artagnan. "Keep it safe for me."

"Of course."

Within five minutes of Porthos' departure Athos began to yawn. He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaustion settling over him like a blanket.

"Let's get you settled," Aramis said.

Although Athos meekly returned to his bed he knew that he would be unable to sleep until his brothers were safely home.

Tbc


	10. Chapter 10

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Ten**

Aramis arrived at the Cross Keys about eight o'clock. The tavern was busy and it took him a few moments to locate Lacroix. While searching his eyes had slid over Porthos, who was sitting on his own a few tables away from their quarry. The noise level was high and the air hot and odorous. He began to push his way through the crowd, enduring more than a few unfriendly stares and muttered oaths as he used his shoulders and elbows with brisk efficiency. Lacroix offered him a smile which didn't reach his eyes and gestured to a chair.

He had only just sat down when a heavily built woman hurried over with a cup and a bottle of wine. Hair which has once been red was bundled up into an untidy bun. Her smile showed the gap between her two front teeth.

"Who's your friend?" she asked Lacroix.

She looked hungrily at Aramis who began to squirm in his chair. His innate charm came to his rescue as he smiled and took her hand, kissing the roughened skin. "My name is Rene, Madame, and I am a visitor to this fair city."

Her giggle was high pitched and grated on Aramis' ears. With an effort he kept the smile in place as he released her hand.

"Then you are welcome to our tavern, Monsieur. I hope you will visit us again."

"Thank you." He looked to Lacroix for rescue.

"Get about your business, Hilaire." Lacroix looked subtly amused by Aramis' discomfort.

Hilaire's smile disappeared and she turned away with a displeased looked on her face. Aramis sighed in relief and poured his wine.

"I owe you thanks for the rescue, my friend." He raised the cup in salute and took a mouthful. The coarse red wine slid down his throat and settled uneasily on his stomach. Why, he wondered, would a man so obviously wealthy choose to frequent a place like this?

Lacroix wasn't alone although neither of his companions looked like merchants. One was slim with sharp features while the other rivalled Porthos in size and muscles. He wondered if these were the men who had attacked Athos and his fingers twitched as his instinct urged him to draw his sword and demand answers.

"I thought I was to meet other merchants? Your friends don't look like they fall into that category." He was surprised that he managed to keep his tone even and pleasant.

"They are my protection. You never know when the Red Guard or Musketeers might decide to arrest me for my views."

"A wise precaution." The mention of the Musketeers had set his heart racing faster but he didn't think he had done anything to betray his true allegiance.

"I need to be convinced of your sincerity before I introduce you to the others. Some would say our views are treasonous. I can't afford to let just anyone in on our plans."

"I understand. What can I do to prove myself?"

"Tell me about yourself. Why did you decide to come to Paris? These are dangerous times to be Spanish in this city."

Aramis knew that the essence of a good lie was to lace it with kernels of truth. "I was born close to the border. My family ran a small distillery making brandy. It provided us with a good living. For a time I trained for the priesthood but I wanted more adventure in my life. When my father died I sold the business and travelled to Madrid. I purchased an apprenticeship with a goldsmith who had interests in several gold and silver mines. The man was old, without any family, and I became like a son to him. After his passing I found that he had left the business to me. Still, though, I wanted more. I want an empire." Aramis paused, looking embarrassed by his passionate words. "Forgive me. I have said too much. My ambition makes me prideful. Our Lord would not approve." He grasped the jeweled crucifix which never left its place around his neck.

Lacroix's eyes widened as he saw the beautiful workmanship. "It appears you have done well for yourself."

"And now I have wasted resources coming to a country that does not welcome free enterprise." Aramis allowed a bitter note to creep into his voice.

"The King fears Spain. He would be better fearing his own people. His actions have threatened the livelihood of many. Men are angry and that makes them dangerous."

"But what can be done to persuade him to change his mind? I heard about the petition and the audience with the King. If that was unsuccessful then what is left?"

Lacroix leaned back in his chair. "That is a conversation for another day. Come to my home and dine with me tomorrow evening. Dinner is served at seven." He reached into his pocket and brought out a folded piece of parchment which he offered to Aramis. "This is my address."

Aramis took the paper, his stomach churning with the combination of cheap wine and tension. "You honour me, Monsieur."

"Don't disappoint me." Lacroix's piercing stare pinned him to his chair. "I will not tolerate treachery. Be assured that if you betray me you will not survive to return to Spain."

"I understand."

Lacroix stood up and his two companions followed suit. "Until tomorrow."

Aramis sat for a long time after they had gone, his mind racing. Clearly they were right and Lacroix was planning something and tomorrow he would find out what it was. He drained his cup, grimacing at the sour taste, and left the tavern, confident that Porthos would watch his back.

TMTMTM

Athos shifted his position for what felt like the hundredth time, trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable. Normally he slept on his stomach, something that wasn't possible with damaged ribs. Lying on his back also put pressure on his ribs and worsened the aching in his head. He couldn't roll onto his right side because of his arm which left only one option. Being on this left side felt unnatural and he squirmed restlessly as he tried to quiet his mind enough to allow him to sleep.

The door opened and footsteps crossed the floor. Aramis sat on the bed next to his and shook his head. "You are supposed to be sleeping. Were you worried about me?"

Relief flooded Athos' body. "Of course not."

"Hm, then it must be the pain from your injuries that keeps you awake."

Athos didn't bother responding to that. "What happened?"

"I met with Lacroix. He was understandably suspicious."

"Were you able to persuade him of your sincerity?"

"I believe so. He has invited me to his home for dinner tomorrow night."

Athos pushed himself up, heedless of the increased pain. "You didn't accept?" he asked anxiously.

"Settle down, my friend. This is our best opportunity to find out what he has planned. I can assure you that I will be quite safe."

"You can't know that. I only agreed to you going to the tavern because I knew that Porthos would be there. He can't watch you if you are in Lacroix's house."

"You worry too much. No harm will come to me. Now, you must rest." Aramis stood up and stepped over to help Athos lie down again. "We will talk more in the morning."

"There's nothing to talk about. You're not going."

TMTMTM

It was a few minutes before seven o'clock when Aramis knocked on the door. It was opened by a manservant who stood back to let him enter.

"The master is in his study. Follow me."

The room was at the back of the house. It was paneled in dark wood and the window looked out to the rear garden. Lacroix sat behind an ornate desk. Aramis stepped inside and removed his hat. Lacroix looked up and acknowledged his arrival.

"Please sit." He poured wax at the bottom of a document and slipped off one of his rings which he used to imprint a seal. He waited for the wax to harden before rolling it up and opening a drawer. "I'm surprised you came." He reached into the drawer and pulled out a pistol which he leveled at Aramis.

"What is the meaning of this?" Aramis kept his hands away from his weapons.

"I warned you last night."

"I am no traitor."

"No, you are supremely loyal to your King…Musketeer."

Tbc


	11. Chapter 11

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Eleven**

Aramis awoke to darkness. The sensation of cloth across his eyes reassured him that he was blindfolded, not blind. He was sitting on the ground, his arms pulled back around a post with his wrists bound. His ankles were also tightly tied together. Aching in his jaw brought back the memory of a fist hurtling towards his face. He stifled a groan and lifted his head, trying to hear anything that would give him a clue as to his location. In the end it wasn't the sounds but the smell that led him to the conclusion that he was close to the river.

"You're awake."

He cocked his head towards the voice. "You are making a big mistake. My friends will find me." He heard footsteps drawing closer.

"Tell me what you know."

He recognized Lacroix's voice. "I don't know what you're talking about." Without his sight he had no warning. His head rocked to the side with the force of the blow to his right cheek.

"A few nights ago a Musketeer overheard us talking. My men were told to take care of him but obviously didn't finish the job. What did he tell you?"

"Nothing." He braced himself. The blow this time connected with his nose, pushing his head violently back against the post. He took shallow breaths as the pain blossomed.

"Lies won't help you."

Aramis knew he had to play this carefully. While Lacroix thought he had information he had value. He resigned himself to a painful beating and shook his head. There were no questions for a while, just blow after blow to his face. Finally, Lacroix called a halt, giving him a chance to catch his breath.

"Are you ready to talk?"

Aramis licked his swollen and bruised lips and shook his head. The assault began again, pushing him closer and closer to oblivion. A wall of water smacked him in the face and he came back to awareness with a gasp. The foul smell warned him that it had come from the river so he resisted the urge to relieve his parched mouth and throat by catching the drops on his tongue.

"You have the power to make this stop," Lacroix said solicitously.

"I've already told you. I don't know anything." His voice was weak and hoarse. He heard someone move closer. "Your time is over, Lacroix. The Musketeers know you are involved. Whether you kill me or not you will be arrested and tried for treason."

"Perhaps I will find a warmer welcome in Spain."

Aramis remembered that Lacroix owned ships. If one of them was in a port within reach of Paris, he could easily make his escape. He pulled futilely against his bonds, frustrated by the fact that they still didn't know what the plan. "So you're just going to leave your co-conspirators to suffer in your place?" His words dripped with derision.

"They knew the risks they were taking."

"This could have been resolved by peaceful means." There was the rustling of cloth and then Aramis felt hot breath on his face.

"The King wouldn't listen to reason. Insurrection is the only answer."

"How can you hope to stand against the Musketeers and the Red Guard?"

"The attacks on their garrisons will keep them occupied."

Aramis' stomach clenched with fear. This was the damaging information that was locked inside Athos' head. All his Musketeer brothers were in danger and there was nothing he could do to help them. Almost without conscious volition he began to struggle against the ropes that restrained him. He could feel his breathing becoming fast and shallow. "When?"

He heard Lacroix back away and then there was a grim chuckle. "You really don't know anything, do you?"

"Think about what you're doing. Innocent people could be killed."

"Soldiers will die while the people march on the palace and demand concessions from the King."

"What happens now?" He was utterly helpless, his face a mass of pain and the rough ropes rubbing against his abraded wrists. He began to pray that his brothers would find him before it was too late.

"The span of your life is numbered in hours. Supplies are being loaded onto one of my barges and, come daylight, we will sail upriver to join my ship. Until then you are a hostage for the Musketeers' good behavior. Once we are at sea your usefulness will be over."

"My life is worth nothing. You will be brought to justice."

"Don't be so quick to dismiss your usefulness."

"How did you know I was a Musketeer?" It was the question that had been haunting him since finding himself at the wrong end of a pistol.

"I have been to the palace many times, supplying the Queen with silk for her dresses. I recognized your friend, the large Musketeer, and I recognized you."

Aramis silently cursed their carelessness. It hadn't occurred to them that Lacroix was a frequent visitor to the palace.

"Enjoy your last few hours."

Lacroix gave a malicious laugh after which Aramis heard footsteps disappearing into the distance.

TMTMTM

"I told him it was a bad idea. I begged him to reconsider but he wouldn't listen." Athos was out of bed searching for his boots. "Do we know where Lacroix is now?"

D'Artagnan took pity on the older man and retrieved the boots from under the bed. Neither he nor Porthos had embarked upon the pointless exercise of forbidding Athos to accompany them.

"Well there's his shop and then he has three warehouses spread out around the city. He could be holdin' Aramis in any one of them."

"Or someplace else entirely," d'Artagnan said gloomily. He picked up Athos' sword belt and indicated Athos should turn around so that he could buckle it in place.

"Are any of the warehouses near the docks?" Athos asked.

"Yes, the largest of the three." Porthos handed over the paper on which all the locations were listed.

"That is where we go. I'll ask Treville to send men to the others but my gut tells me Lacroix will be looking for a way to leave the city. The quickest way is by boat."

"You speak to Treville. We'll saddle the horses," d'Artagnan said.

The sky was clear and the moon hung brightly overhead, surrounded by stars. It was a beautiful night but Athos' only thought was to get on their way as quickly as possible. He paused to let a bout of dizziness pass before resolutely climbing the stairs. When he knocked on the door he was immediately told to enter. He wasn't surprised to find Treville at his desk despite the late hour. One of his men was missing and there would be no rest until he was found.

Athos held out the list of the warehouses. "Porthos, d'Artagnan and I will check the one at the docks. Can you send men to the shop and the other two locations?"

"Of course."

Athos didn't waste any time in turning to leave.

"Be careful."

He hesitated, nodded and then continued on his way. The horses were soon ready and Porthos helped him to mount. He swayed unsteadily for a moment before gritting his teeth and sitting straighter in the saddle. They kept up a steady pace which aggravated all his injuries but he refused to ask them to slow down. His headache began to increase again.

The docks were never quiet. Drunken sailors wove their way from taverns back to their berths. Longshoremen manhandled cargo to and from the warehouses that lined the quay. In a few hours it would be daylight and the small ships and barges would start to ply their trade, travelling downstream to meet the larger ocean going vessels that couldn't navigate the relatively shallow and narrow river.

It took them precious minutes to locate Lacroix's warehouse. There was no sign of life, no light to suggest that anyone was inside. Athos peered through one of the dirty windows, fearful that they would find nothing other than Aramis' dead body.

"We're not doin' any good standin' out here," Porthos said. He tried the door which proved to be locked. With a ferocious growl he kicked it and the door groaned on its hinges. Two more kicks sprung the lock and the door swung open.

Athos drew one of his pistols, being perfectly proficient with shooting using his left hand. He deferred to Porthos to lead the way though. If they were walking into an ambush it didn't make sense for him to take the brunt of the attack given his injuries. They entered the building which gave every indication of being empty. A lantern hung by the door and d'Artagnan quickly struck a spark and lit it. The large room was filled with crates, all of which cast shadows which they had to explore methodically. It took several minutes to conclude their search which yielded no sign of Aramis and no clues as to where he might be.

Porthos kicked a crate in his frustration. "Now what do we do?"

Athos looked at him somberly, wishing that he had an answer.

Tbc


	12. Chapter 12

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Twelve**

They left the warehouse feeling defeated. Athos had only taken two steps when Porthos grabbed his arm and yanked him backwards. He hissed through his teeth as white spots danced in front of his eyes and there was a sudden sharp pain in his ribs and head.

"Keep quiet," Porthos whispered.

They were cloaked in darkness but with a good view of the activity on the quayside. Athos leaned against the wall and waited for his vision to stabilize. "What's the matter?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

"See that man?" Porthos pointed to a large man who was carrying a crate towards a barge moored at the pier. "He was with Lacroix."

Athos looked at him with renewed interest and a memory stirred in the back of his mind. "I've seen him before. I think he might have been one of the men who attacked me."

"Where did he come from?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I don't know but we can assume he'll go back there." Porthos flexed his fingers before making a fist. "I'm sure we can get him to tell us where Lacroix and Aramis are."

"For now we watch him," Athos cautioned. "It's still perfectly possible that Lacroix is holding Aramis near here. It would make sense if he hopes to escape by boat."

They watched as the man handed the crate to someone in the barge before turning round and walking towards a warehouse about two hundred yards from where they were hiding.

"D'Artagnan, give me your pauldron," Athos instructed. "Lacroix and his men have never seen you so you have the most freedom of movement. Get close to that warehouse and see if there is any sign of Aramis."

D'Artagnan unbuckled his pauldron and handed it to Athos. He waited until the man had entered the building before stepping out onto the quayside. He walked openly towards his destination, disappearing around the corner. Clouds had rolled in, covering the moon, and a slight drizzle started to fall. As the water wormed its way down the back of Athos' neck he reflected that he could rarely remember a time when he had felt so miserable. He started to sag, overwhelmed by the weight of his injuries. An arm encircled his waist, offering much needed support.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," Porthos said, contrition infusing his tone.

"I'm fine. You did the right thing. If he had seen us we would have lost the element of surprise."

"You're a long way from bein' fine. You sure you don't want to sit this one out?"

Stubbornly Athos pulled away. "I'm not going to let our brother stay in the hands of that bastard."

"Alright. There's no need to get tetchy."

"I'm not. It's just that I know what Lacroix is capable of. His men almost killed me and I'm sure he would have no conscience about disposing of Aramis."

"We won't give him the chance." Porthos peered out of their hiding place. "D'Artagnan's comin' back."

When the younger man rejoined them he was wearing a grin. "I saw Aramis. He's alive although they've got him tied up and blindfolded. There's a well-dressed man who I'm guessing is Lacroix and three others including the one Porthos identified."

"Four of them'll be no problem," Porthos said with an evil smile.

"How many entrances are there?" Athos asked.

"Two. There's the door at the front and larger double doors at the side."

"Very well. D'Artagnan, you go in the front. Porthos and I will go round the side. Wait for my signal."

They cautiously made their way towards the warehouse. If they were seen now it would be disastrous. Fortune was smiling on them, however, and they managed to get to their appointed places without incident. Porthos tried the door and found it to be locked but the wood surrounding it was warped and old so he indicated that breaking it down wouldn't be a problem. Athos drew his sword and prepared to give the signal to attack.

TMTMTM

Aramis was very uncomfortable. His backside was going numb from sitting on the hard floor. His wrists were sore thanks to his fruitless efforts to free himself and he was cold. They must have stripped his doublet from him while he was unconscious because the water that had been hurled at him had soaked into his shirt, sticking it to his skin. The blindfold was disorienting him, no doubt that being Lacroix's intention. He shivered, wondering when, or if, his friends would find him. If Lacroix succeeded in getting him onto the barge he knew his life was over. He wondered in a detached academic way what method would be used to kill him. He prayed that it would be a bullet or a blade, not the terrifying prospect of drowning.

He heard a sharp whistle from outside and his head shot up. Seconds later there was the sound of splintering wood and a gunshot. There was the clanging of blades and then he felt the rope around his ankles parting. Before he could process that development a hand wrapped itself in his hair and his head was wrenched backwards. The touch of a blade at this throat froze him in place.

"Musketeers," Lacroix shouted. "Drop your weapons or he dies."

"Don't listen to him," Aramis said. His words were cut off by the knife digging deeper into his skin.

"Surrender, Monsieur, and we won't have to kill you." Athos sounded tired and breathless but still spoke with authority.

"I'm leaving and you won't interfere."

The blade was momentarily withdrawn and Aramis felt it slipping between his hands to sever the rope holding him prisoner. His arms, numb and unresponsive, fell to his sides. A hand on his arm encouraged him to stand and then held him in place while the knife returned to his throat. "Kill him," he rasped.

"Shut up."

He recognised Porthos' voice which was filled with frustrated anger. A tug on his arm almost unbalanced him and he felt the blade nick his skin. Lacroix began to back away, pulling him along. Feeling was starting to return to his arms.

"We can't let you leave," Athos said. "Put down the knife and come quietly."

"Your weapons," Lacroix snarled, still moving slowly backwards.

There was the sound of steel hitting the ground. Aramis cursed his lack of vision. He didn't know how many men were there in addition to Lacroix or where exactly everyone was standing. Well, he would have to trust his brothers to deal with the others. He reached up, grabbed the arm that was around his neck, lowered his right hip, kicked back and spun Lacroix off-balance. He ripped off the blindfold, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. Lacroix had stumbled away from him but was still armed with a long bladed knife. He could hear the sounds of fighting although he couldn't afford to take his eyes off his opponent. Lacroix lunged towards him and he threw himself to the side.

"Aramis. Catch."

He reached out and caught the main gauche that Porthos had thrown to him. Now that he was armed he smiled at Lacroix and beckoned him forwards. His opponent warily circled him before attacking. Aramis knew that he held the upper hand. He trained every day with his weapons whereas Lacroix was a merchant who probably hadn't fought in years. He slashed through Lacroix's doublet and across his arm before disengaging.

"Need a hand?" Porthos asked from behind him.

A quick glance showed two men lying on the ground and another standing at the point of d'Artagnan's sword. Athos, white faced and shaking was leaning against a stack of crates. It was only a driving need to get to his injured brother's side that made Aramis accept Porthos' offer. The large man stalked forward and drew his pistol.

"Drop it," he instructed.

With a twisted snarl Lacroix threw the knife to the ground.

"Athos!" Aramis strode quickly across the room, stopping in front of his friend. "Why are you here? You should be in bed." He laid his palm on Athos' forehead, finding the skin to be clammy and ice cold. "Sit down." He helped Athos to slide down to the ground. "You haven't done any further harm to your ribs? Do you realise how badly you could have been hurt? What on earth possessed you to think you were well enough to fight?"

"Peace, Aramis. I have sustained no further wounds and a few minutes' rest will alleviate the pain of my injuries."

Aramis had to be content with that assurance and there was nothing he could do to improve matters. He turned and sat next to his friend, watching as Porthos and d'Artagnan tied their prisoners. Lacroix glowered at him as he was pushed into a corner and shoved to the ground.

"I know what they are planning," Aramis said. "There are to be attacks on the garrisons of the Musketeers and Red Guards. Then protests at the Palace while we are too occupied to interfere. We have to get word to Treville and Rochefort."

"When?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I don't know. It could be any time. We have to get back."

"I'll take the prisoners to the Chatelet," Porthos offered. "You get Athos back to the garrison."

It took the joint efforts of Aramis and d'Artagnan to get Athos to his feet. It was even harder getting him back on his horse. Aramis mounted behind him and put his arms loosely round his waist to steady him. With as much speed as they could manage they headed back to the garrison to face an unknown threat

Tbc


	13. Chapter 13

**Through Darker Days**

 **Chapter Thirteen**

Now that the euphoria of his rescue had worn off Aramis could feel the result of every blow that had connected with his face. His nose was sore and he was sure he would soon have two spectacular black eyes. His jaw felt swollen and he couldn't lick his lips without wincing. With aching around his cheek bones and a raging headache he was thoroughly miserable. As the ride progressed Athos began to lean back more heavily so Aramis pushed his own discomfort aside to support his ailing friend.

After what felt like an interminable journey they finally arrived back at the garrison. Aramis was relieved to see that it was intact with the two guards waving them through. He sat for a moment before wearily dismounting. While d'Artagnan went to speak to Treville he helped Athos to the ground. He found himself taking most of his brother's weight as Athos stumbled along with his head down.

He quickly settled Athos back into bed in the infirmary and went to mix a pain draught. When he held out the cup and Athos finally looked up an immediate look of shock appeared on the older man's face.

"You're hurt."

Aramis shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle. Lacroix thought you had given us information and wanted to find out how much I knew."

"I should have noticed."

"You were barely conscious. Besides, there is nothing you could have done."

"If I'd just been able to remember what I overheard you would never have been in that position."

"That wasn't your fault. The concussion was severe. It is fortunate that you lost nothing more than a few memories." He moved the cup closer to Athos who took it almost too willingly.

"Rest now, my friend. You over-exerted yourself tonight. Remind me to tell you how foolish you were once you feel better."

The mild admonition brought a tired smile to Athos' face. He was clearly struggling to keep his eyes open and Aramis wasn't surprised when he quickly fell asleep. Once he was sure Athos was comatose he mixed another pain draught, screwing up his face at the taste of the bitter herbs. The fact that he had taken that step was testament to how unwell he was feeling. Not that he would ever admit it.

He was looking longingly at the bed next to Athos when Treville arrived. The Captain looked harassed as well he might in light of the news delivered by d'Artagnan.

"What happened to your face?" Treville asked.

"Lacroix had some questions that I refused to answer."

"What exactly did he say about the attacks on the garrison?"

"Only that we would be too distracted to help disperse the protest at the palace."

"I can't see it being an all-out attack. Shopkeepers wouldn't stand a chance against trained soldiers. That means it's most likely explosives. I've sent word to Rochefort and started a search of the garrison. The guard at the gate has been doubled and there will be a regular perimeter search." Treville looked at him searchingly. "You look awful. Get some sleep and we'll talk more in the morning."

That was one order Aramis was only too happy to obey. Despite all his aches and pains he quickly drifted off to sleep.

TMTMTM

When Athos woke up daylight was streaming into the room. He was sore and tired and made no effort to get out of bed. He did, however, look around for Aramis but there was no sign of their resident medic. Hunger would eventually have driven him from his bed had Porthos not arrived carrying plates of bread and cheese.

"It's about time you woke up," Porthos said cheerfully. "It's almost noon."

Athos hid his surprise. "Have you seen Aramis?"

"Not since last night. Why? Is somethin' wrong?"

"You do realize that he was injured? Lacroix used his face for a punching bag."

Porthos frowned. "I didn't notice. The light in the warehouse wasn't very good and I was occupied with the prisoners." His voice was full of remorse. "How bad?"

"Worse than he will admit." Athos, with considerable help from Porthos, sat up and took one of the plates. "Did Lacroix say anything else on the way to the Chatelet?"

"Just spouted a whole lot of treason. Well, he's safely locked away now and can't do any more harm."

"I wish we knew the identity of the other conspirators. I have a vague recollection of hearing someone mention Sunday, but it could be my imagination." He screwed up his face in frustration. Despite Aramis' assurances he still felt as if he was letting his comrades down by his inability to remember.

"Today's Saturday." Porthos pulled over a chair and sat down. "Treville has men searching every inch of the garrison and no-one's gettin' past the guard detail."

"If his co-conspirators learn he has been arrested they might change their plans. We can't get too complacent."

They had finished eating by the time Aramis joined them. His face was a mass of bruises and the skin around his eyes had blackened.

"Why didn't you say somethin'?" Porthos said.

"I had other concerns."

"You put my welfare ahead of your own," Athos said accusingly.

"Your need was greater than mine. Now, tell me how you feel today."

"Would it do me any good to tell you I feel better than yesterday?"

"None whatsoever."

"Then I will tell you the truth. My headache has lessened and I no longer feel sick. My arm and ribs ache but I do not believe I have done any further damage to them."

Aramis accepted his word with a nod. "I am relieved to hear it."

"And, how are you?" Athos asked.

"About as well as I look."

"You're a damned fool," Porthos said with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

"So I have been told on many occasions." Aramis sat down with a heavy sigh. "I spoke to Treville just now. The garrison has been searched from top to bottom and nothing untoward has been found."

"That's good. Doesn't mean we're in the clear though," Porthos said.

"No, it doesn't. We must remain on our guard." Athos slumped back against his pillows and spent the rest of the afternoon fruitlessly trying to chase down his missing memories.

TMTMTM

Aramis was woken from sleep by a loud explosion. After curtly telling Athos to remain in bed he ran into the yard where the rest of the men were assembling. Porthos and d'Artagnan pushed through the crowd to his side. They all looked to where a plume of black smoke was rising in the air.

"It looks like it was two or three streets away," Aramis said. They sky was lightening in the east but everything to the north was obscured by the smoke.

Treville walked part way up the stairs and yelled for their attention. "This could be a diversion but we can't afford to let a fire rage unchecked or every building in the area will be destroyed. I want every man on the scene and lending aid except for two guards who are to remain at the gates."

The Musketeers, including Porthos and d'Artagnan, immediately began to stream out of the garrison. Aramis frowned when he saw Athos making his slow way from the infirmary but was saved from having to express his displeasure by the intervention of Treville.

"Athos, you and Aramis are to remain here. Neither of you is fit for this and I'd feel more at ease knowing you're here in case anything happens." He held up a hand. "Don't bother arguing with me. That's an order. I'm going to the palace to speak to the King. He needs to give some concessions or we will be faced with an uprising."

Treville left quickly and the two men returned to the infirmary. Minutes later there was a second explosion. Aramis leapt to his feet.

"The rescuers could have been caught in that blast. I'm going to check." He was barely suppressing his fear for his brothers. "Stay here."

"I'm coming with you," Athos said stubbornly.

"You'll only slow me down. Please, Athos, do as I say."

Athos nodded curtly but still reached over and grabbed his sword.

The garrison was eerily quiet when Aramis went outside. He was only two steps away from the infirmary door when he saw movement in the archway leading to the street. He flattened himself against the wall and watched as six men walked into the yard. With a sinking feeling in his stomach he noticed that two were carrying powder kegs. Moving quickly and silently he returned to the infirmary.

"We have unwanted guests. They have gunpowder with them."

A faint smile appeared on Athos' face. "Then we will just have to deal with them, won't we?" He handed over his two pistols to Aramis who hooked them onto his belt. His weapons were already primed and he took one in each hand. They heard footsteps and voices and Aramis aimed the pistols at the door. The voices began to fade. Aramis eased the door open and peered outside. It appeared the group had divided in two as there were only three men climbing the stairs towards Treville's office. Aramis fired twice before having to retreat as the third man turned and returned fire. He ducked back inside.

"Take cover."

A volley of shots smashed the windows, scattering glass over them.

Aramis turned to his friend. "Ready? We have four men yet to deal with." He discarded his spent pistols and drew his sword. "Now!" He wrenched the door open and snatched one of Athos' pistols from his belt. He stepped outside, fired, and the number of their attackers was reduced to three.

Shielding Athos with his body he engaged two of the ruffians, leaving one for Athos to deal with. One of the men was no challenge and Aramis quickly disarmed him, laying him low with a thrust to the right shoulder. His second opponent, however, had some skill with a sword. Aramis was aware of the sound of steel hitting steel behind him but couldn't spare any attention to see how Athos was faring. He took a step to the side, trying to get inside his opponent's guard but had to disengage and step back. However, he noticed that the man was looking decidedly nervous and realised that the powder was no-where in sight. He attacked with renewed vigor, driving the man back towards the armory. There were no more sounds behind him and, as he hadn't taken a sword thrust to the back, he assumed that Athos had prevailed. His opponent began to retreat quickly and then suddenly turned and ran for the archway.

The implication was clear. "The powder," he shouted.

"The armory is the logical place," Athos said, sounding badly out of breath.

Aramis flung his sword to the ground and ran towards the armory. As he entered the room he thought he saw a flare of light over by the back corner. He skidded around the racks, knocked pikes to the ground and nearly became entangled in some sword belts. When he could see clearly ahead of him he found two fuses running quickly towards the powder kegs which had been stacked on top of the garrison's powder. He threw himself forward and pulled out the fuses, swinging round to keep the smoldering fuses from sparking the gunpowder.

He walked back out into the yard, his arms and legs shaking as he contemplated how close they had come to disaster. He found Athos standing guard over the lone injured attacker. Remembering the two guards who had been at the entrance he went to check on them, finding with relief that they had just been knocked unconscious.

"Are you alright?" he asked Athos once he had dragged the two men inside and deposited them on beds in the infirmary.

"Yes. Go."

Aramis didn't need any further encouragement. He found the Musketeers fighting two separate fires and ascertained that no-one had been hurt in the second explosion. He caught a glimpse of Porthos and d'Artagnan, their hands and faces blackened as they threw buckets of water over the smoldering building. With a thankful and heartfelt prayer, he returned to the garrison to let Athos know that their brothers were well.

TMTMTM

It was evening before the Musketeers returned to the garrison, followed soon after by Treville. The Captain listened quietly to Aramis' report.

"You both did well. The Red Guard garrison didn't fare so well." He put two bottles of wine on the table. "Porthos. Find us some cups." He waited until they all had a cup of wine before continuing. "A mob did descend on the palace which gave the King quite a fright. Rochefort urged him to fight but it was clearly useless so he revoked his edict banning trade with Spain. Rochefort refused to be the one to placate them so the King dispatched me. Fortunately, without Lacroix to lead them, I was able to talk them down. They left peacefully enough eventually."

"Sounds like you should have taken that post in the King's cabinet after all. You have all the makings of a good politician." Aramis saluted the Captain with his wine.

"It's far too late for that. Now, I must write up my report."

After Treville had gone the four friends sat in companionable silence until Aramis raised his cup.

"To brotherhood," he said. "And, a little less excitement at least until Athos has time to heal."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" d'Artagnan asked. "We'd get bored."

"True enough," Athos said. "Then Porthos and Aramis would get into mischief and we'd all find ourselves mucking out the stables for a month."

"Why do we always have to suffer for their misdeeds?" d'Artagnan said.

"It's what brothers do," Aramis responded with a sly grin. He took a drink and looked around the table. They were all together, even if two of them were a little battered, and that was all that mattered.

The End


End file.
